Where he belongs

"Those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." Friedrich Nietzsche

"Painting has a music of its own," the instructor said in a quiet voice, her French accent making the words sound mysterious and meaningful. "Composition, a balance of highs and lows, light and dark. The pattern inside the chaos ... predictable perhaps but also often surprising in the end result."

She walked around the room as she spoke, stopping from time to time to look at the work of her students and offer support or a casual suggestion. "On the surface still life is about rendering an inanimate object to canvas," she continued, "but there is choice involved. Do we create a physically accurate picture or do we create something that represents what the object means to us, or the feelings it invokes?" She stopped again, this time behind the work of the man who'd intrigued her from the moment he'd walked into her classroom. Average height, handsome, friendly but contained in a way that suggested he was always in control ... capable and maybe just a little dangerous too.

She hadn't seen him before ... her class was open to all and often artists sat a single session and then never returned. This one she hoped to see again for his work was ... interesting and unique in a way she'd not seen for many years.

Looking closely at what he'd painted almost to completion it's meaning – the message he wished to convey – struck her vividly. Outsider ... foreign ... longing for the one place he truly belonged. Resigned ... resolved ... all avenues for return cut off. Stuck in a stasis of indecision. The brilliance was in how he'd conveyed that impression from something so ... simple.

The days still life subject was an acoustic guitar resting against a rocking chair. Most of her students had simply painted it as such, blurring the shape or the colours to make it unique, but still painting what was essentially a guitar resting against a rocking chair. Not this man.

The guitar was still there of course, distorted in its dimensions to serve the artists purpose but it wasn't the focal point of the painting. Instead he'd focussed on the inside – on the darkness of the sound hole and the mystery of what might be contained within. There were hints of dangerous things in the shadows ... yellow eyes, towers of light, fire, conflict. The balance was in the inclusion of things longed for ... the sky, the stars, the magic of discovery. Somehow he'd made the guitar's centre seem like everything inside was in motion, as though the vibrations of playing the instrument had raised a wind that shifted around and threatened to obliterate everything inside that space.

"You are new to town, yes?" she asked quietly.

"Ah, kind of," the man replied, glancing back at her with a slight smile that made his blue eyes twinkle. "I grew up here but it's been a few years since I've lived in the States."

"And this is not where you wish most to be," the instructor concluded, smiling when he looked at her in surprise. "Your painting speaks for you eloquently," she said. "You long for a place that is both dangerous and magical – a place where you are free as you cannot be here."

"That's .. pretty good," the man looked uncomfortable now. "I ah ... I didn't realise I was that obvious."

"Not to most," the instructor said gently. "I have seen many students come through my class over the years. Interpretation comes easier with experience ... although usually I am not presented with something as intriguing to assess as your work."

"Thank you, I guess," the man flushed slightly, obviously not used to compliments about his art. He looked back at his own work, made a few more brush strokes and then sighed before wiping his brushes on a rag that looked well used. As he began to pack away his tools the instructor felt regret ... he was leaving. Although his composition was mostly complete she had hoped he would stay for the entire class.

"I apologise if my comments have offended you," she said sadly.

"No, it's not that," the man rushed to correct that impression. "I need to report for duty in an hour ... military," he added with a rueful smile. "Believe me, I'd like to stay all day and paint but my CO would probably be less than impressed."

"Understandable," the instructor smiled again. "Duty must come first." She stood, taking the opportunity to absorb the feeling in his painting until he'd packed everything else away. "You are welcome to return to my class whenever duty allows," she said.

"Thank you," the man smiled. He looked at the painting himself and then to her, his expression uncertain and almost shy. "Ah ... I don't exactly have a place for this on base so ... I ah ... if it has any value to your classes I could leave it here?"

"That is very generous Sir," she was genuinely surprised.

"Evan," he corrected casually.

"Iris," she offered in return. "Something of such quality should not be given so lightly Evan."

"I know it," he shrugged. "I'm guessing you and your students would appreciate it much more than the people I spend most of my time with. Not that they're bad people. They're not – they're the best people out there. It's just ... well, art isn't exactly a medium for communication where I'm stationed. I honestly don't have a place for this and I'd really like you to have it."

"Then I accept your gift graciously," Iris said solemnly.

Evan nodded, giving his work a final glance before smiling at her. "Thanks for the lesson Iris," he said respectfully.

"I think we both know that you are beyond the need for lessons Evan," Iris replied. "I hope to see you painting here again someday ... if you do not return to the place your heart prefers."

"Ah ... sure, of course," Evan gave her an awkward smile. Gathering up his tools he nodded and then took his leave.

Iris laughed softly, shaking her head as she contemplated the newest addition to her student gallery. It would make an interesting talking point for many future classes, including this one.

"Imagination can play an important part in still life composition," she returned to teaching her students of the day. "Come and see what I mean by this," she invited, stepping back from Evan's work and letting her students take their turns at looking.

Major Evan Lorne threw his art gear in the back of the car he'd borrowed for the day, quickly moving to the driver's side. He'd enjoyed stretching his 'art muscles' at the still life class but it didn't match the feeling he had painting the oceans of new Atlantis. Not that he'd be doing that any time soon ... Atlantis was still stranded in the middle of San Francisco Bay.

Everything was uncertain ... weeks of discussion at levels much higher than his had resulted in nothing as yet. It seemed that no one was willing to make the final decision on the fate of the city of the Ancients. What they should do was clear to Evan – Atlantis didn't belong to them and they should return it. There were people in the Pegasus Galaxy who needed it ... who needed them.

It was what his head said was right ... and what his heart said was true. He'd missed his family sure, but he longed to be standing on the balcony near his quarters in the early morning light, longed to hear the sounds of the sea lapping at the piers, longed to feel the wind shifting across his canvas as he painted. Maybe he had all those things right here in San Francisco Bay but it wasn't the same because Atlantis wasn't home ... he wasn't home ... and that made all the difference.

Starting the engine, Lorne drove towards the base for another turn of duty in a place he no longer belonged, hoping that today would be the day they'd find out what the future had in store.

The End

Authors Note:

The writing prompt from this one came from ladygris and was guitars, painting, and wind. Thank you very much for the suggestion (my first reader prompt so extra nice!) - not sure if this is what you were thinking I'd come up with! Lately I've been thinking about future stories for Fortunate Journey and my Sheplantis seres and feeling stalled because I don't know how to resolve the fact that the writers have just left Atlantis in the middle of the Bay. Maybe the movie would have resolved that for me but it's pretty clear we won't be getting one of those so ... yeah, no idea how to resolve that! Hence this little one shot ... hope it made sense!

On a side note, I've been taking a break from SGA writing lately and trying my hand at something else because I needed to ... I'm still committed to writing Forlorn Hope and will get back to posting that as soon as I can.

Thanks for reading!